The Invisible Community


Years ago before I realized I had healing gifts I read "The Clan of the Cave Bear" by Jean Auel. I was deeply intrigued by the description of various survival techniques used by two different strains of early humans, Homosapiens and Neanderthals. There were techniques for the use of animals and plants for food, shelter, clothes and medicine. There were also descriptions of food preservation to ensure the food stores lasted through the Winter and well into Spring.

In this story the Homosapiens had the ability to learn and store enormous amounts of cognitive information while the Neanderthals, having less of this ability, were able to tap into information previously stored in their cells involuntarily passed down by ancestors. The information the Neanderthals stored ranged from survival techniques to archival history of their clan. When they needed information they would quiet themselves and reach back into their collective cellular memory.

I thought these fictional Neanderthals were fortunate to have such an efficient mode of informational access built right into their very existence. It seemed like such an essential tool for survival. Even if a person was separated from the clan, they still had access to the survival memories and a chance for survival. I accepted the author's suggestion that this "gene" of informational access was specific to Neanderthals and had not descended into the present homosapien gene pool. This, to me, seemed an unfortunate loss.

Imagine what information people could tap into if we had this gene. We could all tap into the prerecorded history of the Middle East to see who the "real" owners of the Holy Land were. I'm sure the answers would surprise everyone involved. We could find out which genetic group first lived on the American continent. We might be able to tap into cures for cancer and other debilitating diseases by "remembering" how they develop. Imagine what could be accomplished globally if we could tap into esoteric knowledge to reverse global warming and pollution.

In the past few years I have had experiences that have caused me to reevaluate the author's suggestion that the gene was lost. The first experience was in my own garden. Garden design was my passion. Garden design kept me reading and pondering and sketching and digging and hauling and watering. I made elaborate maps and finally understood the true use for geometry...measuring land. Sometimes I couldn't solve a problem and went to sleep still thinking about it. Often I would wake up at sunrise with the answers, throw my garden clothes over my pajamas and bolt outside and start working. I would hear the sounds of the morning as I worked, the birds, the critters, the insects.

I seem to naturally accumulate information about the seasons, weather, insects, amphibians, root systems, leaf forms, edibility, and seed dispersal systems. I seemed to have a natural intuition for the care of plants, how to divide them, which conditions they needed to foster optimum growth. The more information I perceived, the more connected I felt to something outside myself. I never questioned what this was. I just accepted it as part of my experience and an important part of my life. It contained spirit and a consciousness and in some ways seemed to be guiding me.

Over the years I tried many different garden designs and plant combinations. I came to a point where I had manifested almost all the design ideas I had. After two decades I was finally sated with garden design. It was time to use the land for food. I started giving small parcels of my flower gardens to my husband to grow vegetables, a task he is naturally good at. I would turn over a little more of my flower gardens to him each year. He has tried many different vegetables with varying degrees of success. Last fall we harvested enormous rutabagas. When I first brought them in the house they made a huge mess of dirt and bugs and leaves flying everywhere. Instead of processing them in the house I tried working outside on planks of wood and sawhorses with a big cleaver. First the soil covered roots were hacked off and tossed into the compost. Then the young leaves were clipped and saved for cooked greens. Then the stalks were cut for fermenting. The bulb was saved for peeling and slicing raw! Amazingly sweet and full of life!

I really enjoyed the process of cutting this enormous thing into various usable pieces and wasting nothing. As I chopped and hacked I felt a growing connection to something outside of myself. It was as if I was connecting to the vibrational memory of countless people who had performed this task in the harvest sunshine, breathing in the cool fall air, preparing for the winter and wasting nothing. The sound of my chopping echoed into the energetic sounds of their chopping. My raised arm melded with theirs, poised for the next strike.

It struck me that people had probably harvested as a group for millennia. It seemed that the group working at the task would be exponentially more efficient than just one person doing all the parts of a task. I researched and found accounts of communities around the world still doing the communal harvest, wasting nothing by fermenting all the leftover leaves and stalks for later in the season when the fresh stores are exhausted. The presently growing phenomenon of Community Supported Agriculture attests to this ancient concept of planting together, harvesting together and feasting together.

I remember reading about a Native American tribe singing a different blessing for every step of food growing. A blessing for the soil, a blessing for the seeds, a blessing for the planting, a blessing to the sky for rain, a blessing for a bountiful harvest...Even if, in our modern world, we plant without obvious gratitude we might still connect to the people we plant with or maybe, to the spirits of all who planted before us. What an unexpected spiritual bonus it might be...growing, harvesting and processing one's own food and connecting to community, be it visible or invisible.

When I created my first newsletter I had another surprising experience of reconnecting with someone or something outside myself. I was deeply absorbed in the task of writing my poems and stories. As I finished each one I worked painstakingly on the layout. Next I printed high quality masters of all the pieces. Then I made copies.

As I was laying out the copies and preparing them for folding and assembling, I thought I felt someone around me, watching me, perhaps guiding me. I started having visions of old fashioned printing presses with sculpted metal Hebrew letters. Of a man printing a newspaper in an old language. Of a man who relished going out to stand on a soapbox to proudly shout his political views. I realized that this was my great, great, grandfather who had lived in the lower east side of Manhattan in some tiny shop, deeply committed to getting his word out. I felt him...near me...watching me...approving of me...encouraging me to get my word out. I felt his concentration close to mine as I concentrated on getting each task just right, taking all the time I needed until I felt that feeling of internal resolution, the feeling that this is now complete.

As I moved through my silent solitary tasks his presence became a welcome presence, a supportive presence. Perhaps he was even accompanied by the presences that once stood behind him as he carefully chose the metal letters, spread the ink and pressed the copies. I felt cared for by his presence and I felt a growing sense of belonging. I felt familial pride at having similar life missions, the passion to get one's word out.

I felt a sense of belonging in each of these experiences. Belonging to a group that embraced powerful ethics and commitment. In my garden I learned the rhythms of the Earth. I connected with her seasons and her creatures and began to see the enormous symbiosis involved in a planet this diverse. At harvest time I learned that it's sensible and essential to waste as little as possible. That every piece of a plant has a function, even if it becomes compost for the next planting season. Creating my newsletter connected me to any writer who has recorded their thoughts and experiences and bravely shared them.

I wonder about this seeming ability to connect back to the ancestors, to receive support for the tasks at hand and to possibly receive information and guidance. Do I possess something similar to this Neanderthal gene? Do we all? If we have a question can we simply quiet ourselves and listen for the answer? While we concentrate on a task do "they" concentrate with us so that their support eases our way? Are our ancestors always around us ready to give guidance whenever we need it? Do they help us whether we ask or not?

Or maybe the knowledge of life tasks performed countless times by countless people coalesces into a giant invisible energetic archive ready to be tapped into by anyone, as needed. Many people who create new ideas, inventions, music, art, etc, describe their creative process as moving into a special state of mind, where the ideas seem to effortlessly flow, almost as if the information was being channeled through them from some other source. Perhaps this is an example of tapping into the archive. Perhaps people tap in with their intent to create and create something that is a combination of archive support and one's own unique incarnate personality. Perhaps as humans continue to evolve we can tap into the archive at higher and more complex levels of intelligence thus achieving extraordinary results that will reflect our evolution as a species.

Which one of your invisible communities is patiently waiting for you to connect? Which one of your ancestors waits in the wings eager to work alongside you as you develop and perfect the genetic gift you received from them? Which group takes great joy in seeing you graciously receive the gifts of the ages?

Are they the farmers or the inventors or the parents or the cooks or the ministers or the entrepreneurs or the artists or the musicians or the shamans?

What if each of us is one diaphanous link in an infinite continuous chain simultaneously connecting back to the ancestors and forward to the descendants?

This leaves me with one last question: After we pass from our present incarnation, which of our descendants will we patiently stand close to in the hopes that someday they will be ready to receive our loving support?




© Sharon A. Kane